


Down, Down

by Amethyst18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst18/pseuds/Amethyst18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, Harry Potter is dead, and the Dark Lord reigns victorious. Goodness and light no longer exist in the world. But for Draco Malfoy, there is still hope…and hope leads to redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down, Down

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** AU, Post-War, Angst, Sexual Situations, Torture, slight mention of rape/noncon, Character Death
> 
> Written for the [](http://hp-couplesremix.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_couplesremix**](http://hp-couplesremix.livejournal.com/) exchange. Prompt was Sampson and Delilah; Inspired by the song, _Down_ by Jason Walker; A special “thank you” to my betas,[](http://withdrawnred.livejournal.com/profile)[ **withdrawnred**](http://withdrawnred.livejournal.com/), [](http://borax38.livejournal.com/profile)[**borax38**](http://borax38.livejournal.com/), and [](http://ashleyfanfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**ashleyfanfic**](http://ashleyfanfic.livejournal.com/). I seriously couldn't have done it without you ladies! Thank you so much! Also, another special "thank you" goes to [](http://atalanta84.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://atalanta84.livejournal.com/)**atalanta84**  for talking me down from the ledge and helping me find the true potential of this story! This fic would not be what it is today without your help! Thank you so much! 
> 
> My beautiful banner was made by the wonderful [](http://draconis23.livejournal.com/profile)[**draconis23**](http://draconis23.livejournal.com/) ! Thank you so much, BB! I love it!

  


  


  
_I shot for the sky  
I'm stuck on the ground  
So why do I try?  
I know I'm gonna fall down.  
I thought I could fly,  
So why did I drown?  
I'll never know why  
It's coming down, down, down_   


  


********    


  


The room was pitch black, with the exception of a single spotlight.

The small pool of light did little in the way of illumination, but served its purpose well enough. The long silver pole, placed strategically in the middle, was made of reinforced steel and stretched from floor to ceiling. It was nothing to look at, a mere prop. There was no need for fancy lights or decorations. They were not coming to see the stage. Nor were they paying their weight in galleons to watch some grand scale theatrical production. No, they were coming for one thing and one thing alone.

To see _her._

As she stood waiting in the shadows, she allowed the hands of faceless helpers to finish dressing her. They pulled the laces of her clothing tighter and tighter around her thin frame, until she was sure that breathing itself would prove a challenge. The shiny satin of the bodice was blood red and made from the finest materials. It felt smooth against her skin, but the luxurious fabric was nothing but a false comfort. One of many.

Around her neck was an extravagant strand of diamonds, and pearls the size of galleons pierced her tiny earlobes. On her hands, she wore jeweled rings and crystal bracelets, and a golden circlet encrusted with black diamonds adorned her brow. The jewelry, though lavish, was not meant for her pleasure, but more for the purpose of decoration. The cold weight of the jewels against her skin was more than enough reminder that she was nothing but a pawn in this terrible game, a pawn worth nothing but the price of the highest bidder.

Her face was left clean and her hair tumbled wildly around her shoulders. This was done deliberately. _His_ instructions had been all too clear. Despite her wardrobe, he wanted her recognizable. As if a coat of make-up could possibly hide her true identity.  
When a low strain of music snapped her out of her reverie, she took a calculated breath and forced herself into the only safeguard she had left: her mind. Once she had effectively cut off her emotions and more importantly, her senses, she allowed the all too familiar fog of numbness to spread over her.

Then with forced resignation, she stepped carefully through the thick black curtains and into the spotlight.   


  


******    


  


Draco Malfoy was a man to be feared.    


With a growl, he yanked the accused wizard off his knees and glared into the man’s trembling face. “So, you think you can steal from the Dark Lord’s table, do you?”

The young wizard trembled under Draco’s hands.

“Answer me, you fool!” Draco roared, shaking the man violently by the front of his robes.

The man only whimpered in response. With a disgusted groan, Draco threw the man back down on the floor. “Stand him up,” he barked to one of the guards, as he pulled his wand from the folds of his robes.

“No! No!” a voice called from behind him, “Please, I beg you!”

Draco whirled around, his chest heaving. “Beatrice, I warn you now, do not pester me with pleas of mercy. Your brother has committed a crime punishable only by death. He has stolen food, stolen from the Dark Lord himself, and his life must be forfeit. Do not ask me for mercy, you know the law.”

The young witch flinched as his words rang through the air. “Please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “We were desperate, we had no choice. Lord Voldemort….”

The woman’s words were effectively cut off as a resounding slap echoed across the room.

“You dare speak his name!” Draco yelled, his face red with fury.

The young witch recoiled in horror at his words, her trembling hand caressing her inflamed cheek. “I’m sorry. I forgot myself for a moment. Please forgive me and…and please spare my brother. If anyone can save him, it is you. The Dark Lord trusts you, listens to you, and if you ask for leniency, I know he will grant your request.”  
Draco narrowed his eyes and sneered. At once, Beatrice fell to her knees with an anguished cry and buried her face in the hem of Draco’s robes. “Please, I beg you. Spare my brother!”

“You insolent woman!” Draco growled, his teeth clenching in fury. “How dare you ask this of me! Your brother is nothing but a fool and a thief. There is nothing to be done. His fate has been sealed.”

The young witch immediately began to shriek in anguish and despair, as two guards pulled her to her feet and bound her hands behind her back.

Ignoring her screams, Draco turned and faced the cowering wizard on the floor. The man’s irises were full of pleading and desperation.

With cold, unfeeling eyes, Draco returned the young man’s gaze and with a quick flick of his wrist, he cast a nonverbal spell, shooting a stream of green light directly into the man’s heart.

Behind him, Beatrice thrashed in the arms of the guards, her screams of pleading turning into cries of unbearable suffering. Cries of mourning.

As the sounds of her sobbing filled the air, Draco returned his wand to its place in his robes. Then, without a second glance for the man or his sister, he stalked out of the room, his dark robes billowing behind him.   


  


*****    


  


He managed to keep it together long enough to return to his chamber and deadbolt his door before he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Covering his head with his hands, he took several deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart.    


As he focused on centering his breathing, he became vaguely aware of a soft voice whispering words of comfort in his ear. A moment later, he felt a small hand on his head, patting him reassuringly. “Oh, Skippy,” he whispered, looking up into the doe eyes of a tiny house elf. “I…I killed him.”  
  
The weight of his words crashed down on him, and he swallowed several times trying to dissolve the lump that had formed in his throat. The small elf nodded and patted his head again, a single tear rolling down her cheek.  
It took several minutes before he could feel the strength in his limbs again, and several more before he could pick himself up off the floor. He allowed Skippy to lead him to the small table in the corner and sat quietly while she served him a warm supper.  
  
As he was eating, a small knock sounded at the door.  
  
Draco watched as Skippy raced across the room and opened the door. A tall, young looking wizard with coal grey robes bearing the insignia of Voldemort’s guards, stepped into the room. His eyes were wild and the expression on his face grim.  
  
“Draco…I…” he began, but was quickly silenced as Draco held up his hand and nodded to Skippy.  
The two men waited in silence as the small elf flitted about, casting various Silencing Charms around the room.  
Once she had completed her work, Draco gave her a quick smile and lowered his hand. The young wizard walked closer, his head low and his shoulders slumped. “It’s my fault.” He whispered.  
  
Draco’s sighed and took another sip of his soup, “No, no it is not. Do not torment yourself. Gomez knew the dangers when he joined our alliance. He was not afraid to die.”  
  
“But it is my fault. I was not at my post. I…I fell asleep. I knew the supplies were coming tonight, but….I only closed my eyes for a second….He must have waited for me, waited longer than he should have. If I had been there to intercept the package as I should’ve, Gomez would be alive. I as good as killed him.” The young wizard’s voice cracked as emotion threatened to overcome him. “Now, everything we have worked towards is at stake because of me.”  
  
“Jonathan,” Draco began, his voice soft and reassuring, “Do not blame yourself, young friend. The Alliance is no more at stake than it has always been. Since its conception, we have risked everything, including our lives, for our cause, for the good of the Alliance. Death is inevitable, we all know it. But to die by means of rebellion…well, to me there is no greater honor.”  
  
“I know,” The young wizard’s head drooped even lower. “I too, have taken an oath pledging my life and service to the Alliance. But I cannot bear the thought of a fellow comrade’s suffering because of my stupidity.”  
“Well, let me give you some small semblance of peace. Gomez died as a common thief, not a traitor. His sentence was carried out swiftly and painlessly.”  
  
“He was charged as a thief?” Jonathan asked. “But…I don’t understand. They must have found his feather. They had to have known he was one of us.”  
  
“Fortunately for all us, they did not search his robes. His feather remained unseen. I was unable to free him before word of his capture spread, but I did manage to circumvent the truth of his crime. There was no possibility of saving him, but by proclaiming him a thief, I was able to give him an easier death…one free of torture or pain.”  
  
“And what of his feather?”  
  
“Safely in the hands of his sister. I’m afraid I was forced to seek her aid in the matter. Dolohov and Lestrange came to the sentencing, so we had to rely on dramatics to cover our tracks. She…she played her part well enough. ”  
  
Draco watched as the blood drained from Jonathan’s face. “I…I should go to her.”  
  
“Yes,” Draco nodded, “Go tend to her. It is not an easy thing, courage under fire, and I can only imagine the horror it is to watch your own brother die. Even for the good of the rebellion.”  
  
Jonathan nodded once, and quickly raced from the room.  
  
When the door closed with a loud thud, Draco exhaled loudly and turned his attention once more to his soup.  
  
“Master? More tea?” A small voice squeaked beside him.  
  
“No. I’m quite alright. Oh and, Skippy, you know you don’t have to call me Master. You’re a free elf.”  
  
The tiny elf blushed and straightened her apron, “Yes, yes, Skippy is free. But Skippy loves Master Malfoy and will do her best to help him and the Alliance.”  
  
Draco smiled. “I am lucky to have you, Skippy. You are my only friend.”  
  
The elf blushed more profusely, her wrinkled cheeks turning a dark shade of crimson. “Master Malfoy freed Skippy and gave her a job working for the Alliance. Master Malfoy takes care of Skippy. Master Malfoy is Skippy’s only friend, too.”  
  
“Indeed,” Draco smiled again and chuckled softly. Years ago, he would’ve scoffed at the idea of befriending a house elf. Now as he stared into Skippy’s warm green eyes, he couldn’t imagine a truer friend or confidante.  
  
Pushing back his chair, he stood carefully to his feet. He swayed slightly and put his hand on the table to steady himself. The events of the day had taxed his emotions and even after the hearty meal, he felt slightly disoriented and lightheaded.  
  
He gazed longingly at the four-poster bed in the corner, but given that he had just been forced to murder a friend, he doubted sleep was a possibility. His mind raced and his heart continued to thud in his chest. In Jonathan’s presence, he had appeared calm, cool, and collected. Everything the leader of a rebellion should be. But on the inside, he felt as if his skin was the only thing keeping him from flying in a million different directions at once. The angry voices in the back of his mind were screaming at him, _Murderer! Traitor! Coward!_ , and it took everything he had to drown out the noise.  
  
He was exhausted, overworked, nervous, frightened, disheartened, and irrevocably drained.  
  
He was on the brink of completely losing it.  
  
He had to act fast, had to silence the voices or he might very well go mad.  
  
Raking his fingers through his hair, he made his way towards the linen closet for a fresh pair of robes.  
  
“Skippy?” He called, “I need that parcel I sent for last week.”  
  
The tiny elf quickly scurried into the adjoining lounge and came back carrying a large, wrapped parcel.  
  
Once Draco had finished dressing, he tucked the parcel under his arm and headed for the door.  
  
There was only one way to find absolution, one way to find peace.  
  
He had to go to The Lair.  
  
He had to go see _her._

******

  
As he walked swiftly through the empty corridors, Draco’s eyes were drawn to the peeling paint, torn tapestries, and broken windows. Even in the years after the Great Battle, no one had bothered to mend the damages, leaving the place in utter disrepair. It was hard, even for him, to remember what the place had once looked like in its former glory. It was a shame, really. 

Every so often, he stumbled across a reminder of what had been, an old Quidditch trophy or a spell book, but fleeting memories and old relics would never bring restoration. Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry was dead, and the old way of life had died along with it.  
  
It seemed so long ago that a young boy with a lightning bolt shaped scar had tried to save the entire Wizarding World, tried and failed. Harry Potter’s defeat and ultimate death had been the cornerstone in Lord Voldemort’s ascension to power, and his reign of terror changed the fabric of society beyond repair.  
  
In the years after the war, the Dark Lord had ripped the Wizarding World right open, unleashing indescribable horrors upon the lives of those who dared to stand against him. Darkness hung like a cloak, and death, destruction, and pure wickedness ran rampant—like a pack of hungry wolves, evil descended upon everyone and everything. Even the Muggles could no longer deny that something was not right in the world. There was no laughter, no kindness, no sympathy, and certainly no love. Greed, Money, Sex, Power…those were the things that mattered now.  
  
Picking up his pace, Draco hurried towards the one place he could find solace, the one place where he could think clearly. _The Lair._  
  
He took a shortcut down a long corridor and through several rooms before finally stopping. The portrait guarding the entrance was as hideous as ever, and the rendering of the three Furies sneered at him while they awaited the password.  
  
He barked the password and waited impatiently as the portrait creaked and groaned open.  
  
After stepping over the threshold, he paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The Lair, a nightclub of sorts, had once been the Gryffindor common room, but no evidence of the room’s former use remained. Gone were the red and golden banners bearing the insignia of the brave, and gone were the comforts the room had once provided to its students.  
  
After Harry Potter’s defeat, the Dark Lord had completely desecrated the place that had once been home to The Chosen One. He had created The Lair as a place of recreation for his most esteemed followers, a place where sex, drugs, and alcohol could be found in abundance.  
  
The walls were cloaked with heavy onyx tapestries, and the enchanted ceiling showed nothing but darkness. Small red orbs of light floated through the air, bathing the room in crimson spotlights. Candles lined the floorboards and plush couches and chairs were arranged throughout the room.  
  
Various Death Eaters and other servants of the Dark Lord were perched on the couches. Some were gambling or drinking, while others engaged in less kosher activities.  
  
Servants walked among the men serving them drinks, while slave girls dressed in skimpy outfits performed various sexual acts and favors in exchange for pittance.  
  
To his right, Draco saw a young slave girl with long red hair, performing a lap dance for a tall wizard with gray hair. The older wizard was breathing heavy, his eyes round with appreciation. With a quick swipe of his hand, he tore what little clothing the girl was wearing away from her body. With her flesh exposed, the old man grabbed and groped, pulling the girl against his chest as he moved her hands to the front of his robes.  
  
The girl made no move to protest, but quickly and carefully serviced the man, as was expected and required. As the older wizard gripped the girl’s shoulder and bit into her pale skin, Draco heard a small whimper escape her throat.  
  
It was a sickening sight.  
  
With an angry hiss, he forced his face forward and kept walking.  
  
He had long learned to ignore the sights and sounds of this room. And it was absolutely imperative to ignore the faces. Yet, there were moments such as this when he was caught off guard, and it was enough to make him sick to his stomach. Many of the women in The Lair were prisoners of the Great War, and more often than he cared to count, Draco had come face to face with one of his old classmates. He had once witnessed a tall Death Eater rape and mutilate Hannah Abbott in this very room. Her shrieks of fear and pain had resounded through the room, but of course, no one made move to stop it. In fact, many applauded.  
  
But as Draco had turned towards the noise, he was greeted by Hannah’s terror-stricken face, her pleading eyes burning into his. It had taken everything in his power to walk away. He still had occasional nightmares about that night.  
  
Since that day, he had taken every precaution to guard his mind and ignore everything around him. He came to The Lair for one purpose and one purpose alone. It was futile to dwell on the things he could not stop or change.  
  
But as he headed towards the back room, he couldn’t help but think of the girl’s long red hair and how it reminded him very much of someone he used to know. 

***** 

  
The back room of The Lair was used to conduct business. In spite of Lord Voldemort’s generosity in creating the place for his followers’ amusement, nothing was for free. Men who wished an evening with a certain girl, or wanted a specific act performed came to the back room to barter a time and price.  
  
Men stood in a thick horde, bags full of galleons clutched tightly in their hands. A cloud of smoke hung in the air and the smell of sweat and liquor clung to Draco’s nostrils. Waiting in the shadows, he nodded his acknowledgements to those who came by with greetings, but for the most part, he kept to himself and waited, his face hidden underneath the hood of his robes.  
  
Finally, after multiple transactions, a wide shouldered wizard with long stringy hair rose to his feet. “Enough of this! When will the bidding begin for La Danseuse d'Ombres? It is her I seek!”  
  
Angry voices rose in a chorus of agreement, as the throng of men pushed forward. The tall wizard keeping track of the books merely eyed the crowd with a look of indifference before raising his hand for silence.  
Then, with a calm voice, he simply stated the starting bid and stepped back to allow the throng of men to argue amongst themselves. In The Lair, there were no rules, nothing to govern the bidding. Money was important, but brute strength and power were of equal standing. Bidding wars of this caliber were violent and brutal, and it was neither surprising nor shocking that more times than not, these wars resulted in death.  
  
As the men argued angrily amongst themselves, Draco casually and carefully walked through the crowd towards the front of the room. Angry voices rang out around him and hexes and curses flew in every direction.  
When he reached the front of the room, he carefully lowered the hood of robe, revealing his face to the masses. In a calm, but loud and authoritative voice, he called out over the crowd. “Enough. There will be no more bidding tonight.”  
  
An eerie silence fell among the men as they recognized his face, recognized who he was.  
  
“La Danseuse d’Ombres is no longer available for bidding,” Draco continued. “I have come to claim her.”  
  
Angry whispers rose from the crowd, but quickly dissolved when Draco glared at the crowd, his gaze menacing.  
  
With a maniacal laugh, Draco sneered at the crowd. “Tonight, _I_ will be with La Danseuse d’Ombres. Tonight, she will be _mine._ ” 

***** 

  
As a slow, eerie ballad began to play over the loud speaker, Draco sat up a little taller in his chair. He was sitting off to the side, towards the back nursing a tall glass of amber scotch.  
  
His mind was absolutely reeling, but as the warmth from the liquor began to course through his veins, he took a deep breath and waited…waited for her to appear.  
  
He did not have to wait long.  
  
What little light illuminated the place was extinguished and a single spotlight lit up the stage. The silver glint of the tall metal pole shined in the light, and Draco could feel his heart beating with anticipation.  
  
As the music began to thicken, the bass creating a deep rhythm of sorrow, the thick black curtains parted.  
And out from the darkness came the dancer of shadows. _La Danseuse d’Ombres._  
  
He watched as she moved to the music, her body attuned to every note.  
  
She twisted and turned, using the pole to spin her web of darkness, a web used to ensnare the desires of every man in the room. Using the music to sing her song of sorrow, she moved with each beat, every move calculated and precise, but also erotic.  
  
She never smiled, never showed any emotion on her face. But her body moved with fervor, conveying things that words alone could not express.  
  
She was the dancer of shadows and her dance was completely and irrevocably captivating.  
It was almost more than he could bear.  
  
When the music faded and she took her leave, it took Draco several minutes before he became aware of the crowd demanding more. But their cries fell on deaf ears.  
  
She never gave encores, except to those with enough purse to afford her. And tonight, that privilege belonged to him. And no other.  
  
When he managed to find his breath once more, he rose carefully to his feet and headed towards the stone door in the back of the club. The stone door that was heavily guarded and open only to the most elite: the door to her chamber.  
  
He took a deep breath and walked through the threshold.  
  
He had claimed her, and tonight she would be his.  
 

***** 

She waited in silence as they prepared the room.  
  
Countless servants flitted about the room, lighting candles and casting various charms. The bed was fitted with the finest silk sheets and a roaring fire in the fireplace cast a glow about the room.  
  
A small servant girl helped her out of her costume and into a more “appropriate” garment for the evening. It was a relief to rid herself of the jewels and tight clothing, but the skimpy negligee she had exchanged them for offered her little in the way of comfort or privacy.  
  
Forcing the breath in and out of her lungs, she tried to fight the tremors threatening to rake over her body. Waiting was the worst part. She never knew who would come through those doors, never know what torments she would be made to suffer.  
  
Some of her patrons were simple, easy to please. But others were more demanding, and these clients were often violent and brutal. She was given various potions throughout the day to rid her body of any injury, but the emotional trauma was harder to erase.  
  
She used to dream of an escape, a way to flee from the horror that was her life. But after years of torment and suffering, she had learned that wishing only wounds the already faint of heart. Dreams are for fools, and fools had no place in this world.  
  
She lived in a state of numbness, never caring, never feeling. It was the only way.  
  
The only way to _survive._  
  
Her thoughts were quickly interrupted as a knock at the door signified the arrival of her patron.  
  
With a deep inhale, she closed her eyes and let the numbness encase her.  
  
And as the door opened, she prayed a fleeting prayer that time would be kind and pass quickly. 

***** 

  
He stepped into the room, his eyes searching.  
  
When he finally spotted her across the room, he smiled.  
  
Without a moment’s hesitation, she rose from her chair and walked to stand in front of him. He searched her eyes for any hint of emotion, thought, or feeling. But there was nothing behind those big brown irises. He had grown accustomed to this blank look of hers, but he longed to see even the faintest spark of emotion in her eyes. _Passion. Anger. Desire_. Anything, but the cold, dark look of emptiness he saw staring back at him.  
  
He took her hand in his and led her over to the fireplace. Once they were seated on the plush rug, Draco removed his outer robes and placed them over her shoulders, covering her scantily clad skin. “There,” he said, smiling warmly at her. “That’s better.”  
  
She never said much during his visits, but she watched him carefully, her wide eyes narrowing.  
  
“I brought you something.” He picked up the wrapped parcel he had brought with it and placed it gently in her lap. “Go on, open it.”  
  
He watched, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as she tentatively began to unwrap the package.  
  
Pushing aside the wrapping parchment, she pulled the strings holding the box together and carefully lifted the lid. Inside the box lay a beautifully bound copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen.  
  
He watched her face as she picked up the book and ran her fingers over the smooth binding. She opened the book and flipped through the crisp pages. Her face remained neutral, but he hoped that her actions meant she was pleased.  
  
But suddenly, something inside her face broke and she tossed the book back in the box and slammed the lid back in place. As she looked up at him with a single tear running down her cheek, he very nearly lost his breath. Her eyes were burning with emotion.  
  
“Why?” she demanded, her voice breaking as she choked out the word.  
  
He looked at her cautiously, surprised by her outburst.  
  
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” she cried, “You come here every couple of weeks to see me. You must pay your weight in galleons to spend the evening with me, and yet when we are together, you _never_ touch me. You just sit there and talk to me as if all is right in the world. And…. you bring me books….I…I just want to know why."  
  
Draco sighed. “Hermione…” He began.  
  
“Don’t call me that!” She yelled, her voice changing from confusion to anger. She rose to her feet, her chest heaving.  
  
“But it is your name.”  
  
“No! No, it isn’t!” Her wide eyes flashed with emotion and he could see that she was trembling. “I am La Danseuse d’Ombres, the dancer of shadows and the weaver of men’s desires.”  
  
She began to pace the room, her hands pulling wildly at her hair, “Hermione Granger is dead. Don’t you understand that? She’s dead!” Her voice was becoming more and more shrill as her hysterical tirade catapulted out of control.  
  
With frantic fingers, she tore Draco’s robes from her shoulders and began to pull at the thin straps of her negligee. “I am what I am, Master Malfoy. A common whore. Now, come and claim your prize.” She stripped the negligee from her skin and tossed it on the floor. She stood in front of him exposed and vulnerable, challenging him with her eyes.  
  
With slow and calculated movements, Draco rose to his feet. She was shivering uncontrollably now, her eyes blazing with fury, and without stopping to ask permission, he pulled her swiftly into his arms.  
  
She fought him at first, beating her fists against his chest, but he continued to hold her while murmuring soft, soothing words in her ears. Finally after several agonizing minutes, she gave in and slumped against his strong frame. Without releasing her, Draco bent over and retrieved his robe from the floor, returning it to her bare shoulders. He wrapped the cloak tightly around her and then pulled her back into his arms.  
  
He was sure she would fight him again, but much to his surprise, she wound her own arms around his waist, gripping him tightly. He could feel her trembling still under his hands and he pulled her closer, stroking her hair.  
They held each other for a moment, before Draco finally pulled away and cupped her cheek. “I bring you books because I know you like them.”  
  
Then with a softness that surprised her, he lowered his head and captured her lips in his. The kiss was not forceful, as she was accustomed to, but tender and gentle.  
  
He cupped the back of her neck, dipping his tongue carefully into her mouth. He could taste the sweetness of her breath and her lips tasted of strawberries. His lips moved over hers in a gentle rhythm, a sweet, slow dance of passion.  
  
When he finally pulled away, they were both short of breath. He leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers. “Thank you,” he whispered, as he smoothed the creamy skin of her cheek.  
  
He kissed her once more and then with a smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand, he released her and walked out of her chamber into the darkness. 

***** 

  
Through the tiny windows of her quarters, she could see the sun was beginning to rise.  
  
She had yet to sleep, and as she lay wrapped up in Draco’s cloak, tears coursed down her cheeks. It had been hours since he had left her alone, and she simply could not stop the outpouring of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.  
  
He had been coming to see her for years. She would never forget the very first time he came to her quarters. The war had only ended a few months prior and she was still trying to acclimate to her new role in society. She had been shocked to see him, and then terrified of the horrors he was sure to make her endure. But he never touched her. He merely sat against the door, watching her with an expression she could not identify. And when the morning sun’s rays began to peek through the windows, he nodded once and left the room.  
  
To say that she was dumbfounded was a complete understatement. Dark wizards from all around the world came to spend an evening with her, the famous Mudblood whore, and every single one made sure that their money was well spent. But not Draco Malfoy. Over the years, he continued coming. He even began to talk to her, and sometimes he would bring her books or other small trinkets.  
  
But he _never_ touched her.  
  
Not until tonight.  
  
She touched her lips gingerly, replaying their kiss over and over in her mind. It had been so long since someone had shown her even the smallest kindness, and his gentle touch had made her fragile senses crumble underneath the hard shell she so desperately maintained around herself. She was used to the pain, used to men taking her harder and faster than most women. But tenderness she was not used to, and the memory of Draco’s eyes as he stared deeply into hers brought about a fresh wave of tears.  
  
Something was different about him. Something had changed. He was no longer the spoiled, selfish teenager she had once known. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t know why, but Draco Malfoy had grown into a serious, mature, and gentle man.  
  
She simply didn’t know what to make of it.  
  
So much of her time was devoted to locking herself away inside her mind, where they couldn’t hurt her. But it only took an hour with Draco for her to completely come undone.  
  
Did she love him? She didn’t know.  
  
But knowing that he would soon come again was the only thing she had to look forward to in this life, the only thing to keep her going.  
  
With a sigh, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and sat upright in her bed. Her hair fell in tangles over her shoulders and she reached for the brush she kept on her bedside table.  
  
As she worked against the knots, a small knock sounded at her door. A young servant girl entered the room carrying a simple wool shift and a pair of slippers.  
  
She could feel her heartbeat begin to race as she eyed the clothing. It was much too simple to be part of her costume. She looked at the servant girl, her eyebrows raised in question.  
  
The servant girl took a deep breath and with sympathetic eyes, delivered the news, “He wants to see you, right away.”  
  
She somehow managed to nod as the servant girl placed the clothes on the foot of the bed and then scurried back out the door.  
  
As soon as the door clicked shut, she could feel the last trace of self-control flee from her body.  
  
There was only one reason _he_ would request to see her.  
  
She must have displeased him, must have done something wrong.  
  
She could feel the blood draining from her face as she gasped for air.  
  
She was sure that the very oxygen had been stolen from her lungs, but she forced her limbs into action, pulling the shift over her head.  
  
She had to hurry.  
  
The Dark Lord hated to be kept waiting.  
 

***** 

  
The only sound to be heard was the furious scribbling from his quill. The candles lining his desk were nearly spent and two empty ink bottles lay on their side next to the growing pile of parchment.  
  
It was well after midnight, but Draco was determined to finish the orders. The fate of the Alliance was resting on the outcome of the upcoming missions, and with such high stakes, it was imperative that no mistakes were made.  
  
Raking his fingers through his hair, Draco fought against the weariness of his body and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The last few months had been riddled with miscalculations and careless errors. The Alliance could not afford any more setbacks.  
  
If they continued down their current course, it would only be a matter of time before they were discovered.  
And discovery meant death.  
  
As Draco contemplated this thought, he was startled to his feet as the door to his chamber burst open.  
Jonathan came barreling in, his eyes wide. In his hand was a long white feather coated in a crimson substance.  
Draco leapt to his feet. “Jonathan! What’s happened?”  
  
The young wizard was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. “It’s Terrance and Vincent. They’ve been taken into custody! We were all supposed to rendezvous at the Manor via Portkey to trade orders and pass along news, but when Terrance and I arrived, Vincent was unconscious on the ground and a group of Death Eaters were waiting for us.”  
  
Draco paled. “Death Eaters? At the Manor? It’s not possible. There are wards and enchantments…only one of us could’ve entered the grounds.”  
  
“And yet, there they were.” Jonathan’s shoulders slumped as he sank into a nearby chair. “And that’s not all.”  
  
“There’s more?”  
  
“I’m afraid so. After I returned to the castle, I made a quick round of the dungeons to see if any more of our people had been captured. I did not find anything…except for this.” He held up the feather. “It was outside the room of punishment…..Draco, I believe someone has betrayed us.  
  
Draco swayed as Jonathan’s words hit him with full force. “No, it can’t be true. We’ve….We’ve sworn an oath of loyalty.”  
  
Jonathan sighed and nodded his head. “Yes, but even you can’t deny the Dark Lord’s power of persuasion.”  
  
With a resigned sigh, Draco fell back into his chair. “I don’t believe it….I just can’t….” He stopped and cleared his throat. “How did you manage to escape?”  
  
“Peruvian Darkness Powder. I bought it from a peddler a few days ago. I was fortunate to be wearing the same robes.” The younger man looked down at his feet, dejected. “They saw my face, Draco. I am a marked man.”  
  
“We are _all_ marked men, now.” Draco whispered, his head in his hands. “It is only a matter of time now. If it is true that we have a traitor among us, it is only a matter of time before the Alliance falls.” He looked up suddenly, his eyes wide with desperation. “Jonathan, you risk your life by bearing this news to me. You must go. Alert as many of our contacts as you can that the Manor has been compromised. Then you must go into hiding. As one of the Dark Lord’ guards, you will be punished more harshly than most.”  
  
The young man nodded gravely, but made no move to leave. “I just have to know one thing, first.”  
  
Draco looked up from his hands. “Yes?”  
  
“Why’d you do it?”  
  
Draco’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “Do what?”  
  
The younger wizard leaned forward. “Why did you create the Alliance in the first place? You are considered to be one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted followers. You have money, fame, power, anything you can possibly desire within your grasp. Why throw it all away in the name of rebellion?”  
  
“I….well….” Draco began, “Do you know why we wear the white feathers, Jonathan?”  
  
“As a sign of our loyalty to the Alliance, and to identify ourselves to contacts.”  
  
Draco nodded, “Yes that is true. But for me, the white feather holds a much greater purpose. A long time ago, I read a passage in a Muggle history book that men who were considered to be cowards were branded with a white feather. At the time, it was merely a fact, a passage in a book I would soon forget. Little did I know, that passage would change the course of my life forever.”  
  
He exhaled deeply, and then continued.  
  
“My entire family served the Dark Lord. My father, my mother, my aunt, and even me, though I was still a young boy. There was never any questioning on my part. I simply did as I was told. I dreamt of power and glory, and I wanted to bring honor back to the Malfoy name. And when the Dark Lord defeated Potter and came to power, I slowly rose through the ranks. I did the Dark Lord’s bidding without fail, never showing fear or remorse. Before long, I became one of the Dark Lord’s most feared assassins. Grown men would tremble and weep in my presence. I was a man to be feared and I enjoyed the feel of power. But over time, the burden of my sins began to weigh heavily on my shoulders. And suddenly, as I watched the entire Wizarding world bend to the Dark Lord’s will, I began to see the terrible price of his victory with fresh eyes.”  
  
Draco squeezed his eyes shut as the painful memories came flooding back.  
  
“I watched as my classmates were hunted down like dogs, watched as they were tortured and beaten. Hundreds were thrown in Azkaban where the Dementors were given full dominion. Women were raped before my very eyes, and I soon lost count of the number of men I murdered in the Dark Lord’s name. Pure evilness erupted in this life, and goodness and sovereignty disappeared from this world altogether. There was so much violence and destruction. And death. So much death. The power and glory I had so desperately wanted was mine at last, but it meant little when the world around me seemed such a dark place. I did not feel like the hero I dreamed of becoming. I felt like a coward. I was young, naïve, and childish in believing that betraying all that is good in this world would make me happy.”  
  
Jonathan was looking at Draco, his eyes wide with curiosity. “So, then you created the Alliance?”  
  
“Well, not right away. I started small. My guilt had completely consumed me to the point that I felt compelled to wear a white feather underneath my robes. No one knew it was there of course, but I knew and by acknowledging the true nature of my cowardice, I felt that I was in some small way seeking atonement. Before long, I began to hear whispers of others who were questioning the new order. I allied myself with these men, and before long we were conducting small missions, releasing prisoners and sneaking food out to starving families. Throughout the course of a few months, our numbers slowly grew. And as the complexity and gravity of our missions increased, it became necessary to organize ourselves in a more formal way. Thus, the birth of the Alliance."  
  
“And the white feather?”  
  
Draco smiled. “Over time, the white feather became much more than the personal branding of my cowardice. It became like an emblem of hope to me. And to the men who served under me. I could not change the sins of my past, but I discovered that I _could_ do my part in ensuring that hope and goodness survive in this world. By leading the Alliance, I take one step closer to redemption. To me, the feather is an ever present reminder of the man I used to be, and the man I hope to never become again.”  
  
Jonathan looked down at his feet and sighed. “I hope to have your courage one day, Draco.” He whispered, his voice dejected.  
  
Draco rose to his feet and held out his hand. “You already do, young friend.” He pulled the young man to his feet and led him to the door. “Now, you _must_ go. It will not be long before Death Eaters come knocking at these doors.”  
  
Jonathan, unable to meet Draco’s eyes, nodded quickly and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.  
  
Alone with his thoughts, Draco sank back down into his chair and covered his head with his hands. He had always known this day would come. He had only hoped the Alliance would have more time to achieve its purpose: To rise against the Dark Lord. To restore hope and goodness to the world. But perhaps, good is not meant to prevail over evil. Perhaps, that was the greater lesson.  
  
They would have to go into hiding. The members of the Alliance would no longer be safe.  
  
They would be hunted.  
  
As a wave of despair washed over him, he felt a tiny hand covering his larger one. He looked up to see Skippy staring up at him, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Master Draco must go. Master Draco must hide.”  
  
Draco nodded and wiped the tears from the small elf’s cheeks, “Yes, my time here in the castle is over. It will not be long before the Dark Lord discovers that I, Draco Malfoy, one of his most trusted followers and assassins, is the leader of the greatest rebellion since Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix.”  
  
Skippy nodded, “Skippy will prepare Master Draco’s things. Skippy will help hide Master Malfoy.”  
  
Draco nodded once more, “That would be helpful, thank you. And Skippy? Don’t think for one moment that I would leave here without you.”  
  
The tiny elf was too emotional to respond, but she wrapped her arms around Draco’s legs and squeezed them mightily.  
  
Draco chuckled softly and patted her shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a black book resting on the table. It was a book of poems by Lord Byron. He had gotten it for _her_.  
  
“There is one thing I must do before we go.”  
  
Skippy nodded knowingly, “Master Draco, must go rescue the Lady of Shadows. Master Draco is in love with her.”  
  
“Skippy, you see too much, old friend. Now, go. Prepare our things. I fear our time is growing short.”  
  
He watched as Skippy ran to the other room, her large ears bouncing with purpose. He took one last look at his quarters and adorned his cloak.  
  
He extinguished the fading light of the candles and stepped in the blackness of the corridor.  
 

***** 

  
He stole into her room easily enough.  
  
Her latest patron had left hours earlier and the usual guards were slumped against one another fast asleep. Had the circumstances been different, he might have laughed at the ease of this visit.  
  
Tiptoeing up the stairs, he wiped the sweat from his brow. His body was already reacting to the situation, his nerves firing into overtime.  
  
With a gentle hand, he pushed the door to her chamber open. He could see her silhouette, illuminated by the dying embers of the fire in the fireplace. She was sitting close to the fireplace, her back to the door. He was surprised to find her awake.  
  
“Hermione?” He whispered through the darkness.  
  
She turned slowly, her face wet with tears. But it was not the tears that Draco’s eye zeroed in on. It was dark, black bruise covering her cheek and the split in her lip that still poured drops of blood.  
  
He flew to her side, taking her face in his hands and examined her gently. “My God, what happened?"  
  
“It’s nothing,” she whispered, “Just a souvenir. They always leave one or two…”  
  
Draco rocked backwards, his breath catching in his throat. He knew the stories, often hearing them from the boasting men themselves, but to see the results firsthand was almost more than he could stand.  
  
“I’m such a fool, Hermione. I should’ve stopped this years ago. I should’ve taken you away to a place where no one could hurt you ever again. I…”  
  
“Shhh….”She interrupted, gently placing a hand over his mouth. “Let us not waste this moment dwelling on the things we cannot change.”  
  
Draco nodded, but when she had released her hand, he could not help the words from spilling out of him. “I was jealous you know?”  
  
She raised her eyebrows in question. “What?”  
  
“Of Potter,” he continued. “I was so consumed with jealousy, I could barely look at my own face in the mirror. He had everything I ever wanted. Popularity, fame, and friends…and one friend in particular.”  
  
Her eyes widened. “But you hated me. You were the very first one to ever call me ‘Mudblood’.”  
  
“I know. And I cannot begin to tell you the shame I felt ever since. I just could not understand why you wanted him and not me.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
  
Draco took a deep breath, a soft smile appearing on his lips. “Because I want you to know, want you to understand. I was young and foolish. I’ve made so many mistakes in my life; so many regrets that I will never be able to rectify. After all, the past is the past. I cannot change it, but if I try hard enough, I just might be able to atone for my sins. I’m a different man, Hermione. And I swear to you, that I have devoted my life to making amends.”  
  
Her eyes widened. “It’s true then?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I hear whispers and stories,” she murmured, her eyes locked with his, “of a rebellion. Of a man who wears a white feather and challenges the conventions of the Dark Lord. A man who is not afraid to die for what is good. That man….that man is _you_.”  
  
He nodded his head slowly in acknowledgement and pulled back his robes to reveal the long, silky, white feather pinned to his shirt.  
  
With trembling fingers, she reached out and carefully stroked the feather. Then, her shoulders began to shake and a sob broke through her lips.  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes burning with emotion. He was confused by her reaction and he reached out to gently cup her cheek. “Hermione, please do not cry. I will never let them hurt you again. I’ll get you out of here and protect you. I….I…I love you.”  
  
Her sobs grew louder and shivers raked her tiny frame. Tears poured from her eyes and air came in tiny gasps from her lungs. She seemed utterly _heartbroken_ , but he couldn’t understand why.  
  
“Hermione?” He whispered, unsure of what to do or say. She continued to cry, her broken sobs echoing through the darkness. When she lifted her head, her eyes were desperate and wild. They locked eyes for a moment and before Draco could question her again, she pulled his head down and captured his lips in hers. Her lips moved frantically against his, her arms winding tightly around his neck.  
  
She was still crying and he could hear soft whimpers coming from her throat. He pulled her into his lap and gripped her tightly, running his hands up and down her slender back. He kissed her hungrily, unable to get enough of her. He ran his fingers through her hair and tried to take in every ounce of her. She was still trembling and as she pulled away from him, a loud sob broke through her lips.  
  
He looked at her, his eyes full of concern. She began to cry even harder.  
  
The slowly, she pulled herself out of his lap and rose to her knees. She kept her eyes locked on his as she began to remove her night clothes.  
  
Draco drew back, unsure.  
  
Tears fell like rain from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks as she reached for his hand and carefully placed it over her now exposed breast. “Please, we don’t have much time.” She whispered, “Please, Draco. _Touch_ me.”  
  
He looked at her big brown eyes burning with need and he knew he could not refuse her.  
  
He pulled her to her feet and allowed her to lead him over to the bed.  
  
And then, with the sweetest touch, he made love to Hermione Granger.  
 

***** 

  
When he woke, he could hear birds chirping outside. Morning was approaching.  
  
“Hermione, if we are going to leave, we must go now before the guards stir.”  
  
He rose to his feet, pulling on his various layers of clothing. “Hermione?”  
  
He turned around to face her.  
  
She was standing against the back wall, holding the bed sheet against her body. Clutched tightly in her hand, was his wand.  
  
She was trembling uncontrollably and tears were once again spilling over her cheeks. It was the look in her eyes, however, that made him stop dead in his tracks.  
  
As he eyed her carefully, recognition slowly washed over him. He knew that look, it was one he often saw looking back at him in the mirror.  
  
It was _guilt_.  
  
His breath caught in his throat but before he had the chance to react, Hermione raised her hand and shouted, “Petrificus Totalus!”  
  
The spell hit his body before he could even register its meaning. As his stiff body hit the floor, he caught a brief glimpse of a silver otter flying through the air.  
  
She was sending a message.  
  
As soon as the spell was complete, the wand fell from her hand and clattered on the floor. She sank to her knees, staring at him with wide and red-rimmed eyes. Sobs raked her thin frame and finally she covered her face with her hands as she gasped for breath.  
  
A few moments later, he heard stomping coming from the stairs. It wouldn’t be long now.  
  
Suddenly, the door burst from the hinges and four tall Death Eaters entered the room, dragging a man behind them.  
  
Pain seared through his heart as Draco stared into the pale face of the man.  
  
It was Jonathan.  
  
One of the Death Eaters shoved Jonathan against the wall and forced him to his knees, “Now, you stay there.” He barked. “The Dark Lord thanks you for assistance, and for your cooperation, he wanted to make sure you had a front row seat to the big show.” The Death Eater sneered, his sarcasm practically oozing off him.  
  
The blood drained from Jonathan’s already pale face as he stared at Draco with wide eyes. _I’m so sorry._ He mouthed to Draco, before looking away, his eyes filled with tears.  
  
Draco could neither move nor speak, but he could still feel, and the painful realization ripped through his body, a silent scream on his lips.  
  
Jonathan had _betrayed_ him. Betrayed the Alliance.  
  
If he could have cried, he would have, and a painful lump formed in his throat.  
  
Jonathan knew of his visits to Hermione. It was the perfect setup. Except…  
  
Another round of agony seared through him as he realized the painful truth.  
  
She had to be in on it.  
  
As if he needed confirmation, one of the Death Eaters walked over to Hermione’s sobbing form and threw a large bag of galleons at her feet. “Well done, the Dark Lord will be pleased.”  
  
In that very moment, Draco felt his heart break into a thousand pieces.  
  
He was only vaguely aware of one of the death eaters removing Hermione’s spell and pulling him to his feet.  
  
He looked over at Jonathan who was refusing to meet his eyes. He then looked over at Hermione, who was still on her knees, her loud sobs echoing loudly in his ears.  
  
And when the tall Death Eater in front shouted, “CRUCIO!” he welcomed the physical pain.  
  
Anything to drown out the pain of his heart. 

***** 

She sat in complete silence, with only a single candle to dispel the darkness.  
  
In her hands, lay a single white feather. _Draco’s feather_.  
  
It had fallen from his clothes during the capture.  
  
As she sat, stroking the feather with her fingertips, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to replay the evidence. Every word, every smile, every touch….every single moment they spent together.  
  
And each painful memory stabbed at her heart with the ferocity of a thousand knives. She was completely consumed with agony and grief.  
  
But yet… it was far less than what she deserved.  
  
She had betrayed the man she loved.  
  
Yes, she loved him, but the realization had come too late. She had condemned him to death, and for that, she would never be able to forgive herself. Of all the vile sins in the world, betrayal is the one that slowly eats away at the heart. And with each painful beat, she was reminded of her transgression.  
  
She had _betrayed_ him. And for what?  
  
For the sanctity of her own selfish nature.  
  
When the Dark Lord had promised to release her in exchange for her help, her sensibilities had completely crumbled. Like dangling raw meat in front of a hippogriff, she had leapt at the opportunity to secure her freedom….  
  
And she was absolutely disgusted with herself.  
  
The old Hermione Granger would’ve never betrayed her friends or someone she loved.  
  
But the sad truth remained: she was no longer that girl and her own words rang clear in her head. _“Hermione Granger is dead! Do you hear me? She’s dead!”_  
  
Hermione Granger was dead, indeed.  
  
And in her place was the broken shell of the girl who had once been.  
  
With tears pouring down her cheeks, she curled into a ball, clutching the feather to her chest.  
 

***** 

Days passed.  
  
He faded in and out of consciousness, only aware of the pain that consumed his body.  
  
He was chained to the wall in the Room of Punishment, and he had learned quickly that the room had rightfully earned its name.  
  
They tortured him mercilesslly.  
  
Lord Voldemort had decreed that _Avada Kedevra_ was much too kind for a traitor like him.  
  
They broke his arms and legs, ripped his fingernails from his hands, administered the Cruciatus Curse profusely, and injected him with a poison that slowly burned through muscle tissue.  
  
In the lonely darkness, he waited for death, waited for the end to his suffering.  
  
Then, one night, the door creaked open. He was in too much pain, to look and see which of his tormentors had returned to finish the job, but he closed his eyes and waited.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
He opened his eyes slowly and with all the strength he had left in his body, he looked up.  
  
Standing in front of him, wearing a traveling cloak, was Hermione Granger.  
  
She was crying, her voice coming out in choked whispers.  
  
“Draco, I…I….” She stammered, “I am so sorry. He promised me money. And my freedom…I just…couldn’t….”  
He could only barely hear her. The pain was unbearable and he was so near death, his senses were failing him.  
  
But he could still see.  
  
And tears poured from his eyes as he stared into her heart shaped face.  
  
He waited for the anger to come. Waited for the hatred to fill his heart from her betrayal. But as he gazed intently into her chocolate brown eyes, all he felt was compassion.  
  
She had come to him, come to make things right…. that was all that mattered.  
  
And in the still of the darkness, his faint heart felt its last bit of joy.  
  
He did his best to smile, and with his burst of energy, he whispered into the darkness a line from one of Lord Byron’s poems, the last book he would ever bring her.  
  
 _“She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright, Meet in her aspect and her eyes.”_  
  
Then with one final look at her face, he closed his eyes and took his final breath. 

***** 

  
  
Draco Malfoy’s death was used as an example to the people.  
  
Broken and wasted, his body was hung in the Great Hall for all to see.  
  
And La Danseuse d’Ombres was never seen again…..  
  
Although there were whispers throughout the castle that the night Draco Malfoy died, she stole from the castle.  
  
Stole from the castle wearing a long dark cloak.  
  
And a white feather pinned across her heart.  
 

 

 

 


End file.
